When people got too close to him or failed to hide their attempts at listening in on their conversation, her protective instincts kicked in. She glared them into submission. He admired that skill.

His quick stop to grab the few things he’d left in his room last night turned into an early lunch. She insisted and he didn’t argue. She might only be fortysomething but she had the same order-him-around skills as his mother. Maybe not to his mom’s professional level of bossiness, but still impressive. Sylvia decided and he didn’t get a choice. Since he was eating what might be the best lemon chicken of his life, he decided to agree to almost anything Sylvia said from here on out.

“Does Ben have any idea who might have broken into the cabin?” Sylvia asked as she motioned for the server to bring more water.

Connor hesitated, knowing his answer could drive them straight into awkward territory. “We know.”

She set the knife down on the side of her plate. “Already?”

“The person admitted it . . .” He searched for the right words but quickly gave up. “Sort of.”

“I’m confused.”

He scanned the quiet room. The lingering stares stopped and a few heads turned. The sounds of clinking silverware and the mumble of chatter suddenly filled the room. This island had a quaint charm but no one could call the residents subtle. “That makes two of us.”

The server appeared at the side of their table. Sylvia waited until the man refilled their glasses and set down a basket of what smelled like freshly baked bread. “Are you always so cryptic? Because people around here love mysterious things. You’ll hear a lot about how people keep to themselves and don’t gossip.”

He couldn’t help but smile at her sarcastic tone. “And?”

“None of that is true.”

“How very charming.” He’d traveled here from D.C., a town not exactly known for its ability to keep secrets. There was always some anonymous source ready to tattle on someone.

“Let me put it this way.” Sylvia balanced her elbows on the edge of the table and leaned in. “You’ve been on Whitaker for one day and I’ve received over twenty texts about you, seen a few emails with your photo attached—”

“Uh . . .” Yeah, that didn’t sound funny.

“—and answered about a hundred questions in this dining room, which is packed, and you’ll notice no one seems to be eating.”

He took a second to look around the room. The same heads that turned away from him before did it again. Forks rose in unison from each table. “What are they hoping will happen?”

“They’re waiting for you to do something.”

The topic made him squirm in his chair but the easygoing back-and-forth conversation with Sylvia relaxed him again. Her smile eased his growing discomfort. “Like?”

“I have no idea.”